Love Me If You Must (24 page)

 
42

I strode out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. I slammed Deucey’s door, steaming mad at myself for tipping my hand to David. I felt like a walking, talking dead woman.

“Stupid.” I slammed my fists on the steering wheel. I didn’t even own a gun. I didn’t even believe in guns. But if I did, I’d probably sleep better. I couldn’t imagine getting even one wink now.

I backed out and maneuvered my yacht out onto the main drag. I gunned it, hitting the speed limit right about the time the light changed to red.

I braked and rocked to a stop. What I’d give for a new vehicle.

“Sorry, Gram. I didn’t mean it,” I whispered toward the clouds.

A red car pulled to a stop behind me. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked a lot like David’s. The vehicle seemed to breathe as it hunched in the rearview mirror, waiting for the light to change.

I wasn’t about to roll over and die so easily. I spun the wheel and pulled into the right turn lane, cutting in front of oncoming traffic. Tires screeched. Horns sounded.

In my rearview mirror, the red car drove straight through the intersection. I sighed in relief. Still, all I was doing was buying time. I’d have to go home sooner or later. And David knew it.

I accelerated, following the highway that led west of town. The commercial district disappeared, and the terrain changed to frost-covered rolling hills speckled with newer homes.

I drove another five minutes before deciding I made too easy a target. Who could miss my big blue boat amongst the newer, sleeker vehicles? A sign ahead announced the turn to Fish Lake State Park. I veered onto the two-lane, then took the first left.

The gravel road led between two guardrails flanked by swamp. Then came a slight rise, followed by hardwoods skulking twisted and bare in the bleak afternoon. The light dimmed as I drove into the timber. The path wound along the downside of a ridge that in the summer would have brought sighs of amazement. But now, with the landscape coated in the glum grays and browns of early winter, I could only think of the Haunted Forest.

The road narrowed. Deucey took up the entire space allotted for traffic. Hopefully I wouldn’t meet someone coming the opposite way.

Just ahead, a two-track, blocked by an iron gate, led off to the right. Intrigued, I pulled the car off the road and shifted into park. The two halves of the gate met in the middle to form an ornate letter T. I strained to see out the passenger-side window, looking for a house beyond the fancy entry. The road wound through the trees, with no house in sight. For a moment I wished I’d be in Rawlings long enough to find out who lived down there. And maybe get a tour of the place.

It seemed like just my kind of home. Iron gates and miles of woods between me and the nearest neighbor.

No sense getting too excited. I popped the car back into drive and pressed the accelerator. Deucey stayed rooted in place. I pressed harder. The engine raced. My rear wheels spun. I felt the car sink.

I shoved the gearshift into park. I opened the driver’s door and looked down. Mud everywhere. And I was stuck in it, miles from nowhere.

I patted my jacket pocket and blew a breath of relief. I had my cell phone with me.

I flipped it open, checking for a signal.

No bars appeared on the display.

“Come on.” I tapped the phone against the dash. Still nothing.

Great.

At least I was parked in front of the only house for miles.

I stepped into the mud. My shoes made a sucking sound as I struggled around Deucey’s front end and over to the gate.

I looked down at my sneakers. Definitely ruined.

I scaled the gate, using the letter T for a foothold. I made it to the other side and set a fast pace for the residence I could only pray was somewhere down the road.

If the sun were shining in my eyes and birds were chirping around me, I could almost imagine I was back at the lake house up north. Mom and I spent summers there on the Silvan Peninsula. It was only an hour’s drive from our home in Escanaba. As soon as the snow melted, we’d drive out there and get the place ready for the season. Gram and Gramps had their own little cottage not too far away. We’d get together and do cookouts and swim in the bay.

But when Mom died, everything was sold. And Gram and Gramps bought the place in Walled Lake, about as far from the Silvan Peninsula as you could get. At least our new home had still been on the water. That helped make up for having to leave my friend Anne and my kitty Peanut Butter.

I crunched along the road, wishing I had a hat and scarf to guard against the chill. A gray, glassy surface shone through the trees ahead. I rounded a curve in the road and saw one of the many small lakes that dotted the area. On a bluff overlooking the shore sat a majestic log home. Leaves covered the path to the back door. Probably a sign that no one had been home for quite a while. I knocked anyway. Only the creak of trees answered. I checked the handle. Locked.

The clock on my cell phone read 1:50. I had plenty of time before dark. I could start walking home, and when my phone was back in range, I’d call for help. The temperature hovered right around thirty degrees these days, so I wasn’t in danger of freezing. Not for a while, anyway.

I headed up the hill back toward my car. I saw its glossy teal through the gates. Pulled next to it was a silver sports car.

I ran toward the vehicles, waving my arms. As I got closer, I stopped dead in my tracks.

David’s other car was a silver sports car.

I dove behind the nearest tree. I couldn’t believe it. David had gone back to the house, switched cars, then came out looking for me.

I took in the desolate forest all around. And what better place to dispose of my body?

Crouching on the ground in utter fear didn’t do much for my circulation. I started to shiver. I flipped open my cell phone again. Still no signal. And it looked like the battery wouldn’t last much longer in this cold.

I headed off into the woods, staying low, scurrying from bush to bush until I couldn’t see the cars anymore. Then I picked my way through the underbrush, hoping I was traveling somewhat parallel to the main road. I avoided the few patches of snow that lingered in the deep woods. All the exercise got my heart pumping. Everything but my ears felt toasty warm. I kept my hands in my jacket pockets along the way, playing with Rebecca’s fingernail as a motivator to keep moving.

Fifteen minutes or so later, I checked my cell phone again.

No signal and no battery. Looked like I was walking the rest of the way home.

I stayed in the woods until I came to the swamp. I had no choice but to cross on the narrow road. And once I was over, there were mostly open fields for the next several miles back to Rawlings.

About forty-five minutes had passed since I’d seen the sports car up at the gate. David would have figured out that I was nowhere around and left by now.

Still, I listened for sounds of traffic. I heard only the brush of the breeze against tree limbs.

I ventured onto the causeway. Pebbles scattered as I scurried toward the other side. Then out of nowhere, I heard crunching gravel and a revving engine. My heart lurched.

I threw a glance over my shoulder. David’s silver sports car was halted at the top of the rise, facing me and gunning its motor. And I was stuck on a ten-foot-wide strip of dirt surrounded by swamp.

Rocks flew behind the wheels as the vehicle blazed toward me.

I froze like a statue of a crazed gargoyle.

The car came at top speed. I could almost picture David smirking behind the tinted windshield.

Seconds before becoming roadkill, I flung myself over the wooden guard posts and into the swamp. The freezing water hit like a million needles piercing into my skin. I stood up in the knee-deep slime and gasped for breath.

I dragged my legs through the murky water toward the woods.

I glanced behind me. The sports car slid to a stop where the paved road began. The engine revved. Then the car sped off toward Rawlings.

 
43

My teeth chattered as I climbed out of the swamp and up the ridge. David didn’t need to stick around to make sure my body was floating in the swamp. He figured with a bath like that, I was as good as dead. Some hunter would find me next year, curled into a ball under a tree somewhere. And with my car parked up the road at the T gate, no one would even be suspicious.

And David would go around humming “Another One Bites the Dust.”

My body vibrated with cold. I could feel myself turning blue. I crossed the bridge again, safely this time, shivering in a slow jog. About a half mile south of the intersection, close to the road, sat a white farmhouse.

I set a goal to make it there alive.

Without trees to stop the wind, the cold cut through my clothes. I could barely feel my legs. They seemed to move by some power all their own. My clothing froze into a crusty shell. My lungs filled with molasses.

Not much farther. I was almost there. I couldn’t give up.

“Grandma, wake up and take your medicine.” I stood next to her bed at the Walled Lake house. Another morning, another round of pills. The woman would never die. I’d been caring for her two years already. The doctors had said six months at the most.

She groaned and opened her eyes. “Tisher, I don’t feel so good today.”

You haven’t felt good for two years, Gram, I wanted to say. “I know,” I said. “You’ll feel better after you take your pills.”

“I never feel better. I just want to die, Tishy.”

Then do it, already.

“I know, Gram. It’s hard.” I held her head up while she swallowed her prescriptions with a sip of water.

“Give me some more of those.” She pointed to her painkillers.

I moved the bottle behind a box of tissues on her bedside table. “Nope. It says one in the morning and one at night.”

“Give me one more. Then I can go back to sleep.”

“You’re not going back to sleep. Sit up. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.” I propped some pillows behind her and went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot. I held back the tears as I thought about the letter I’d gotten the day before, a friendly reminder from the MSU financial aid department that my scholarship award expired that coming September if it remained unused.

Gee. Thanks for the update.

I brought Gram her coffee along with the morning paper and sat in the chair next to her bed.

“What terrible things happened yesterday, Tish?” she asked.

I opened the paper. The front photo showed a collegian in a cap and gown. It was graduation time again. I folded the paper back up and set it on the nightstand. “Nothing too newsy today, Gram.”

“Good. That’s the way it should be.” She sipped her coffee, spry as ever. “I have a hankering for some chicken paprikash tonight.”

“Chicken paprikash it is, Gram.” My life revolved around her appetite. I would give her a bath this morning, head to work at the Foodliner for the afternoon shift while a neighbor sat in, then come home with the fixings to make her special request.

And we’d do it all again tomorrow. I looked over at the paper. A corner of it showed a woman’s smiling face under the black cap and tassel. It seemed that would never be me. Grandma was still kicking up her heels at life, no matter how bad she grumped about the way she felt. If I hadn’t seen the x-rays of her lung cancer myself, I would have thought she was just throwing a hypochondriac tantrum so I wouldn’t go back to college and leave her alone. Still, she’d made herself completely helpless. I had no choice but to stay home and care for her. How could I have done otherwise? She’d raised me when my mother died. I owed her everything. And if she wanted to die at home, surrounded by the only family she had left, then who was I to deny her?

I stumbled in a pothole. The ground in front of me came back into focus. I couldn’t feel my body as I crawled up the farmhouse steps. I banged on the storm door. The rattle of glass hurt my ears.

A woman answered. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun. She wore a starched shirtdress. Everything about her reminded me of Aunt Bea. I only hoped her heart ran along the same lines.

“Merciful heavens,” she said. From the expression on her face, I knew I must look like Frosty the Snowman standing on her doorstep. She pulled me inside. Next thing I knew, I was in an old-fashioned farmhouse bathroom. The woman twisted the porcelain knobs of a claw-foot tub, then helped me out of my wet clothes.

“You just get yourself thawed out,” she said, leaving me alone.

I soaked in hot water, filling the tub with more as the temperature cooled, until the tank was exhausted. Feeling like a boiled jellyfish, I eased up out of the tub. I toweled off and wrapped myself in the terry robe hanging on the back of the door.

I walked out of the bathroom to thank my rescuer. Next to dear Aunt Bea on the stuffy Victorian love seat sat Officer Brad, sipping a cup of tea.

“Mrs. Westerman called in with a report of a half-frozen woman on her porch,” Brad said. “I never thought it would be you.”

His teacup clinked on the saucer as he set it down. He came to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, Tish?”

My mouth wouldn’t cooperate with my brain. My lips flapped senselessly. Then I burst into tears. Brad held me as I cried. His chest was warm against my face. His hands rubbed my back. His cheek rested on the top of my head.

“It was awful,” I said when I could speak. I looked up at him. “I got stuck up on the hill, then David tried to run me over. I jumped off the road and into the swamp so he wouldn’t kill me.”

Brad gave me a long look. “Tish. Where do you come up with this stuff? Just when I think you’re someone who’s got her life together, you pull something outrageous.”

I stepped away from him, slack jawed. “You think I’m lying? You think I jumped in that swamp just for thrills?”

“When did you say this happened?” Brad asked.

I calculated backward. “A little over an hour ago.”

He gave a condescending shake of his head. “David Ramsey couldn’t have been chasing you. An officer radioed in his name for a traffic violation earlier today. David was most likely still pulled over during the time you’re talking about.”

“Maybe you’re confused about the time. I know it was David. He was driving that silver hot-rod.” I could still see the sports car hunched at the top of the hill, chrome and glass glinting, just before it barreled toward me. “Aren’t you going to arrest him? I could have died today.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. What you’re saying sounds a little crazy.”

I poked a finger to his chest. “You’re the one that’s bonkers, here. David murdered Rebecca and buried her in my basement. I can prove it. And now he’s trying to kill me.” I stared at Brad. His brown eyes were filled with skepticism. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

He stood silent. I humphed and shook my head, betrayed. “I can see I’m on my own. Which is just the way I like it.” I twirled and retreated to the bathroom.

I stuck my head out. “Mrs. Westerman? Could I have my clothes back, please?”

I locked the door and waited for my garments. In the meantime, I found a blow-dryer and took care of my hair. Brad certainly knew how to make me second-guess myself. I had been so sure the silver sports car had been the one from David’s garage. But from what Brad said, it couldn’t have been David.

But who else would try to kill me?

I found nail clippers in a drawer and did my toenails while I waited. Mrs. Westerman had tweezers too, so I attacked my eyebrows to pass time.

Fifteen minutes passed. Mrs. Westerman knocked on the door.

“Here are your clothes, dear,” she said.

I took my things, still warm from the dryer, and put them on.

Presentable once more, I walked out into the living room.

“Mrs. Westerman, I don’t know how to thank you for helping me today.” I ignored Brad.

“Win that election, dear. That will be thanks enough,” she said.

Brad leaned into my line of vision.

“I was telling Mrs. Westerman about your campaign plan,” he said.

“I’ve always wanted to enclose my front porch,” she said, “but the Historical Committee would never approve it. Officer Brad says you don’t mind altering historic details in favor of modern living.”

I thought about the magnificent front porch that made this farmhouse a classic beauty. I shuddered. I could never allow it to be marred with tacky screens and cheap storms.

“There are some projects that are certainly allowable in historic homes,” I said. Removing my cistern was one of them. Enclosing her front porch was not.

“Wonderful. You can look forward to my vote come January.” She shook my hand.

“Thank you, again, Mrs. Westerman.”

“I’ll drive you home, Tish,” Brad said.

I clenched my jaw, holding back words that would strand me west of Rawlings.

I followed him outside. I got in the police cruiser and slammed the door. I tuned out the obnoxious chirp of the two-way radio. Brad started the vehicle and shifted into drive.

“Do you want to see where my car is stuck, at least?” I asked as we approached the gravel road that led into the woods.

“Is it up that road?” Brad asked.

I nodded.

“Let me get you home so you can rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. It’ll be easier to check out your car and arrange for a tow truck once I know you’re safe.”

Safe at home. That was an oxymoron. But at least I’d have some time to work in the cistern. If I unearthed Rebecca, Brad would have to arrest David. The police officer couldn’t ignore concrete evidence forever.

Ten minutes later, Brad drove around the back of my place. He walked me up the porch.

“Stay warm. We don’t need you getting sick.” He touched my arm. “Call me if you have any problems.”

I nodded, then went in the house.

I made sure the lights of Brad’s squad car were out of sight before I headed down the basement steps.